


Fairy Lights and Mistletoe

by maybethrice



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, Awkward Crush, Christmas, F/M, I Thought You Hated Me, Kissing, Robb Ships It, Secret Crush, Unreliable Narrator, Yule Ball, awkward teenagers, oblivious narrator
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-04
Updated: 2016-06-04
Packaged: 2018-07-12 04:03:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7084873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maybethrice/pseuds/maybethrice
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sansa has every intention of going to the Yule Ball with Jon, even though he isn't sure why.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fairy Lights and Mistletoe

**Author's Note:**

> Written to fill a prompt on the valar_morekinks community on LJ. I let the story get away with me, and I took a few liberties (I know fourth years can attend the Yule Ball in HP canon, but I'm fudging it here), but please enjoy :)

“You’re taking me to the Yule Ball.” 

Jon knew who it was even before he looked up to see whose bag had just been dropped in front of him, and he felt his heart skip anxiously in his chest. When he looked up from his O.W.L.S. practice essay and frowned at Sansa over the wire rim of his glasses, however, she was seated neatly in the chair opposite his with an expression that allowed no argument. 

He sat up a little straighter, so he wasn’t slouching in his chair, and quickly put down his quill before it dripped another spot of ink on his essay. “I am?” 

He and Sansa had grown up in the same craggy little, northern village. The Starks and the Snows were the only two Wizarding families in Winterfell, but it was Jon’s tight friendship with her elder brother that ensured that Jon was a familiar face in the Stark house. When his mother died in his third year at Hogwarts, it was Sansa’s father who delivered the news and invited Jon to live with the Starks rather than go off to live with his father’s distant, cool relations. 

To say he and Sansa were close, however, would have been a gross exaggeration. Though Robb offered to let Jon room with him, Mrs. Stark had insisted that the newly-orphaned Jon be permitted his own room. Sansa had apparently not entirely forgiven him for moving into her room, particularly as it meant that Sansa now shared a room at home with her younger sister, Arya. Jon did not think she meant to be unkind, but she avoided him at home and Jon did not recall her ever speaking to him since he moved in.

But here was Sansa, flipping her long hair over her shoulder and leaning over his stacks of Transfiguration notes. “I’ve already picked out my dress robes at the last Hogsmeade visit, so we’ll have to make sure that we match.” She examined her nails carefully as she spoke, but then paused and looked up at Jon. “You do have dress robes, don’t you?”

“I—of course I have dress robes,” Jon stammered out, before he remembered that he still didn’t know what had put the idea in her head that he was taking her to the Yule Ball in the first place. The Yule Ball was quickly approaching in only two weeks, though it seemed a lifetime away for Jon, who had exams to study for before he could enjoy the holidays. “But I — am I taking you to the Yule Ball?”

“Oh,” said Sansa, looking a little put out. “Are you going with that girl from Durmstrang? Um, Ygritte, was it?”

“No,” snapped Jon sharply, earning himself a sharp look of reproval from the Head Librarian’s desk. Jon ducked his head. “No, Ygritte and I—never mind. I thought Harry was taking you. Robb said something about it. That’s why you’re staying for the holiday instead of going home.”

Now it was Sansa who looked uncomfortable. “Oh, no. Harry’s not taking me,” she explained, waving a hand dismissively before clearing her throat and propping her chin up on her fist. “Robb told me you didn’t have a date, and… well, you don’t want to go alone, do you?” 

The truth was, Jon hadn’t thought much about it after he and Ygritte flamed out after she was named Durmstrang champion. He hadn’t planned to go to the Yule Ball, but he hadn’t planned _not_ to go, either. It was just a thing that was going to happen sometime. Probably.

Sansa looked so earnest about it, though. Her red hair shone in the soft light of the candles lit around the library, tied back with a blue ribbon that matched her eyes, but not the red and gold uniform tie she twisted around her manicured fingers. Sansa was a _very_ pretty girl, after all. Jon tried to tell himself that there were worse things than being seen with her at the Yule Ball.

But her sharp stare was fixed intensely on him as Jon stammered his way toward an answer, clearly telling him that anything but a yes wouldn’t be acceptable. “Sure,” Jon mumbled nervously, if only to escape the scrutiny of that stare.

Sansa popped up from her seat, grabbing up her bag as she stood. “Perfect,” she said, flashing a brilliant smile at him. “That’s settled, then. I’ll see you around, Jon.”

And that seemed to be it. Jon went back to studying for exams and Sansa went back to soundly ignoring him. He might have even thought it was nothing more than a hallucination brought on by lack of sleep if she hadn’t stopped by the Hufflepuff table in the Great Hall the morning of his last exam, just three days before the Ball. 

“I’m going to pick up my dress robes in Hogsmeade today for the Yule Ball,” she announced brightly, seemingly ignorant of the hush that fell over the House table. Her sparkly bangles made a jubilantly festive noise every time she moved that was at odds with the nauseous feeling Jon had about his Potions exam. With a quick, appraising look, she added, “Are you sure you have everything you need?”

“Yeah,” answered Jon defensively, instantly resenting that she thought he’d fail to uphold whichever asinine tradition she’d lifted up. He choked down a dry swallow of toast and wished Sam would stop staring at him with that gap-mouthed expression. “It’s all fine. I’ve got it, Sansa.”

“Great,” said Sansa with far more gusto than Jon imagined the occasion merited. “Good luck with your exam today!” Then she wiggled her fingers in a bright, jangling farewell and skipped back to the Gryffindor table without another word. 

The rest of the table turned to face him expectantly. Jon’s face went hot with embarrassment as he stuffed the rest of his toast into his mouth as a poor cover for the inevitable barrage of questioning that would immediately commence. 

“You didn’t say anything to us,” Sam accused softly, his eyes wide with betrayal. “You could have _told_ us you had a date with her.”

“Does Robb know?” Pyp cut in with a wicked grin. “I mean — he probably knows now, right?” 

Though Jon felt a stab of regret for not mentioning the peculiar conversation in the library a few weeks before, he felt suddenly overwhelmed by a new anxiety: Sansa’s infamously high expectations for perfection. Jon moaned, and bent forward to rest his face in his hands.

*

The group of them spent the next few days trying to think how to fulfill whatever expectations Sansa had for the Ball. And though they didn’t come up with anything particularly useful, one of the sixth year girls hanging around the common room cheerily remarked that fourth years didn’t usually get to go to Ball and it was sweet of Jon to offer to take his best friend’s sister anyway. Sam suggested one of the enchanted hairpins he’d bought for Gilly for Christmas, but this was dismissed out of hand as not at all the sort of thing Sansa would like, and Satin remarked that it wasn’t as though they knew what her dress robes looked like, anyway.

Jon wasn’t sure when he’d become — well, if not entirely _comfortable_ with the idea that he was going with Sansa, but at least concerned that he was somehow going to ruin it for her. There had been a Triwizard Tournament and Yule Ball in Jon’s first year, though he hadn’t been permitted to go to the Ball, but there wouldn’t be another Yule Ball as long as Sansa was at Hogwarts. Surely, she’d hoped to go with Harry, or maybe even Joffrey, but she’d settled for him. Which was probably for the best. The thought of Sansa going with either one of _them_ made Jon’s stomach turn.

Jon went to bed late on Christmas Eve, feeling as though he was set up to do nothing but disappoint Sansa. The feeling hadn’t diminished by the time he woke up. If anything, knowing that he’d be dressed up and leading Sansa into the Great Hall in only a few hours only made his chest twist with nerves. 

Not even the respectable pile of gifts at the end of his bed could cheer him up, though Robb had bought him a leather-bound book to record Quidditch practices and strategies in, Sam had found him an excellent book on famous Wizarding duels, and Mrs. Stark had included a rather good recreation of his mother’s fruitcake with a Wizard’s chess set addressed from all of the Stark family. Underneath these, however, was a soft, hand-knitted scarf wrapped in pink paper that could only be from Sansa. It smelled faintly of her perfume, something that left Jon feeling light-headed as he sat dumbly in his bed.

But Jon didn’t have the chance to think much about whether his own gift — a thoroughly pragmatic book of charms he’d picked out months before when he ordered Arya a new broom kit — was a suitable match until he left the Hufflepuff common room on the way up to meet Robb for a late breakfast. 

Robb wasn’t there, but Sansa was. “Robb’s still getting dressed,” she explained, waving him over. “I told him you’d wait, but he thought you’d probably leave him.” 

“Oh,” Jon said rather stupidly and jammed his hands into his pockets. “Thanks, Sansa.”

Sansa looked over him from his scuffed shoes to the mess of curls on his head with something that seemed like disdain, for she then looked off to the side and folded her arms in front of her. Jon felt the twinge of nerves again and cleared his throat. 

“You know, Sansa,” he stammered weakly, pushing the riot of curls away from his face. “If you just want to go to the Ball to hang out with Margaery, or — or Willas, or whatever. Whoever. It’s just, you know. That’s okay. You don’t have to hang around me if you don’t want.”

“Oh.” Sansa’s eyes snapped up to him again, her eyebrows pinching together at the center of her forehead. But when she opened her mouth to continue — either to agree, or to deliver a scathing rebuttal for his lacking gentlemanly manners — Robb came jogging down the stairs. 

“Great, you’re still here,” he said when he came up between them, clapping Jon on the shoulder with a twitch at the edge of his smile as he looked between the two of them. “Nice job stalling him, San.” 

There was no time to talk more after that. Robb pulled them both into the Hall after him, drawing Jon into a deep, one-sided conversation about Quidditch. Jon stole a few quick glances at Sansa as they ate and, though Sansa tried to look bored, thought he saw her turn her eyes to something just over his head more than once.

*

Jon put off getting dressed until Sam poked his head into their dormitory and told him that they’d have to leave in only a few minutes if they wanted to catch the Champions processing in with their dates. Though Jon wasn’t precisely delighted with the prospect, he dressed quickly and met Sam, Gilly, and the rest in the common room with the grim expression of a man facing his executioner.

Satin fussed with the collar on Jon’s robes all the way up from the dungeons, muttering under his breath, but his mood improved when they arrived just in time to see the Champions leading the way into the Great Hall for the start of the ball. Students milled around from every direction, merrily searching for their friends, or their date, but Jon looked away to avoid the chance of catching Ygritte’s eye, not wanting her to think that he was pathetically alone. He didn’t think Sansa would stand him up, but maybe she’d take him up on the awkward offer from earlier in the day to go in with someone else.

“Oh,” said Gilly, clutching Sam’s arm and standing on her toes to look over the crowd of students. “There’s Sansa!”

Sansa stood near the door, her hair glowing so brightly it was as if it was emitting a light of its own, rather than reflecting the light from the cluster of candles floating behind her. Jon was used to her devoted occupation to her appearance, but rather than wearing one of her usual, brightly-colored outfits, she wore an extremely flattering set of pale, faintly iridescent grey robes. Something sparkled at her throat when she reached up to touch her hair, looking almost nervous, but then she saw him and waved. 

Jon’s heart skipped several beats before hammering loudly in his chest, and it was only a well-meaning push from Sam that made him come beside her, clearing his throat a little. “You look…” But words failed him, even as Sansa looked up at him with unmasked eagerness.

“Yes?” she asked, leaning forward a little with an impish smile. 

“Radiant,” he said, and felt immediately stupid. This was Sansa, after all. Sansa Stark. Robb’s sister. Robb, who was standing with his back to them and Jeyne leaning against his shoulder. “The robes are great.”

Sansa seemed to accept this, because she rolled her weight back on her feet and smiled down at them. “Well, you said yours were black, and Mama thought they might—” But she stopped abruptly and looked at the crush of people moving into the Hall, sliding her arm through his and pulling Jon after them. “We should go in!”

She carried most of the conversation through dinner, chatting amiably with Gilly and Sam, seeming somehow lighter than usual. Whenever Sansa caught him staring at her, she touched her fingertips to his forearm and continued talking with Sam about the upcoming second task in the Tournament. Jon felt dizzy, but nothing like when the last of their pudding disappeared from their plates and the music started up. 

Still, Sansa didn’t get up to catch up with her friends, not even when Margaery stopped by their table for a quiet whisper in Sansa’s ear. If she wanted to dance, she didn’t say anything to Jon, who had tried to ignore Sam’s pointed looks when he let Gilly drag him out to the center of the floor, and she gently the boys who approached her nervously. 

Finally, when Sansa turned down a third offer to dance, Jon cleared his throat and leaned toward her, swallowing hard when she flashed him a disarmingly brilliant smile. “Did you — um, did you want to dance?”

“I’m a little warm, actually,” Sansa answered, looking out through the doors toward the fairy garden set up outside. “And — maybe a little bit of air? Do you mind?”

This was something Jon could agree to. His robes felt too hot, almost scratchy when he jumped up and let her lead the way. Robb gave a little salute in Jon’s direction as they passed, laying to rest the notion that he hadn’t any idea what his sister was doing, but revealing little of Robb’s thoughts on it. But Sansa did not seem to notice any of this. She floated gracefully along the floor on their way outside, pausing to wave to a Ravenclaw fourth year Jon didn’t recognize as they broke past the crowd of dancers and emerged into the cold, winter air. 

The Herbology professor had outdone herself raising up the softly winding labyrinth of holly bushes, which were all covered in a picturesque cap of snow. The path was clear of ice, but still seemed to glitter in the moonlight as though the snow were as freshly-fallen as it had been that morning. Fairies pulsed with an unearthly sort of light all around them, preening whenever someone paused to look at them, which was quite often. 

They made it almost halfway through before Jon thought he saw Sansa shiver, and stopped long enough to try and cast a warming charm over them. It failed and Sansa had to cast it herself, but she smiled kindly at him anyway.

It was an odd way to spend the Yule Ball, Jon thought, hanging around her brother’s friend, or the village orphan, or the tyrant who stole her bedroom, or — whatever it was Sansa thought of him as, he supposed. Ever since she’d turned up in the library that day a few weeks before, Jon had assumed that she’d only wanted to go to the Yule Ball, not that she wanted to go with _him_. But here she was, walking in step with him without saying a word about her friends, or dancing, or the things she was missing out on by being with him.

“I’m sorry,” Jon sighed, looking out at the festive scenery. “I know this probably isn’t what you had in mind when you—” Sansa slipped her arm through his as he spoke, and Jon lapsed into surprised silence. 

“It’s pretty, isn’t it?” Sansa’s voice lifted charmingly, and she peered up at him with a warm, kind expression Jon didn’t quite recognize. “It’s kind of…”

Except he _did_ recognize it, if not on Sansa. Anxiety. Hope. A longing for something abandoned for folly. Jon had seen it before. He’d _had_ that same expression before.

“Romantic,” she finished purposefully, her blue eyes locked on his.

Suddenly, Jon felt as though something large and heavy had just fallen into place somewhere in his head. Sansa’s odd assertiveness, her unusual avoidance of her friends in favor of _his_ company, though she had no reason to do so. Even her peculiar behavior and inconsistent story about having bought her robes for a ball she’d apparently not planned to go to before asking him. And then there was _Robb,_ with his smug, knowing looks and odd, cryptic hints the last couple of weeks.

What didn’t make sense to him, at least, was the sudden rush of adrenaline that set his heart racing, or the swooping sensation in his stomach that he usually associated with a hopeless crush. Sansa, who hated him. Sansa, who avoided him and never spoke to him, not even when they were home. Except...

“Oh,” said Jon thickly when Sansa’s palm slid down over his to take his hand into hers, and he tried to think of the proper thing to say. “You came out here to — Would you like me to kiss you?”

Sansa looked in equal measure both exasperated and relieved. “I _hoped_ you would.”

Jon found quickly that he rather _did_ want to kiss Sansa, an impulse that was rewarded with the revelation that her lips were feather soft and extremely kissable when he lifted one shaking hand to cradle the curve of her neck. Sansa made a soft, pleased noise and rocked forward onto her toes, twining her hands in Jon’s curls and pulling gently. When this drew a startled gasp from him, she traced the barest tip of her tongue along his lower lip, inviting him to deepen the kiss.

Electricity raced along to every inch of his body, leaving Jon feeling raw and exposed. He was emboldened by both the startling news that he was _certainly_ enjoying kissing Sansa, and by the ardent fervor she returned it with. She twisted his curls around her fingers and, even when he broke away to catch his breath, she pressed her forehead up against his. 

“I waited ages for you to figure it out,” Sansa sighed happily. “Or maybe you did, and you didn’t want… well, me.”

“I wouldn’t have figured it out on my own,” Jon admitted, a haze of pleasure clouding his thoughts. All but his urgent compulsion to kiss her, this time before she needed to ask again.


End file.
